


A Funny Thing Happened at Ransom and Holster's Wedding

by omgericzimmermann (HMSLusitania)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: But everyone else did, Future AU, I can't believe I just wrote this, Multi, Tumblr Prompt, but oh well, in that jack never went to samwell, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7285312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSLusitania/pseuds/omgericzimmermann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric Bittle is a simple baker. He is not supposed to wake up in bed with not one but two of the most attractive players in the NHL. </p><p>Not that he's really <i>complaining</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Funny Thing Happened at Ransom and Holster's Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> I got tumblr prompts. One anon wanted a long thing about PB&J and another wanted Bitty and Parse drunk on a weekday (I'm guessing because that's what I was when I asked for prompts, but I could just be projecting). And it took me a week, because I had to get my head around the idea, but here it is.

When Bitty wakes up, it takes him a little too long to remember where he is. There’s sunlight streaming through a window, the bed he’s in is comfortable, and it’s definitely not his own bed. He’s also pretty sure he’s naked.

He looks to the right, towards the window, and freezes. Jack Zimmermann is stretched out next to him, his face pointed in Bitty’s direction, even though he’s totally unconscious. Belatedly, Bitty registers the fact one of Jack’s oversized, calloused hands is resting just below his collarbone. The sheet has fallen down from where it was covering Jack, the corner just pooled in the small of his back, leaving all of Jack Zimmermann’s glorious ass bare to the world. Or, at least, to Bitty.

Bitty never thought he’d be in this position, naked in bed with a very famously gay NHL player. And he can’t remember why.

And why the hell is he naked in bed with Jack Zimmermann of all people, who he can’t currently remember meeting?

While he worries about it, he notices there’s a bruise on Jack’s ass that looks remarkably like a bite mark. And Bitty does not remember leaving it there.

Because…

 He understands implicitly that he’s very hungover at the same moment he registers there’s another hand on his chest. He looks to the left and discovers Kent fucking Parson, captain of the Vegas Aces, just as naked as Jack Zimmermann.

Bitty is left with the inescapable conclusion that he had slept with not one, but two NHL players the night before, apparently at the same time. Which none of his friends would _ever_ let him live down, if he could just remember where the hell he was.

He lies there in between Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson – not really the worst place to be, he decides, because good _God_ the musculature on those boys – and tries to recall the previous night.

He has the vague idea he’s in Washington State, but he’s sort of guessing because of the pine trees he can see out the window and the fact it smells like rain, which he’s pretty sure is how Washington is defined. Hazily, he remembers going out for breakfast with Ransom and Holster and Shitty and Lardo in the not distant past.

Right. Because he is in Washington State. He’s in Washington State because Ransom and Holster live in Seattle and they just got married last night. And Holster, who plays for the NHL, had invited several NHL players, including…

Jack sighs in his sleep and shifts closer to Bitty. On the other side, so does Kent Parson. Bitty is very effectively trapped by two very large men – which, sure, maybe a wet dream come true – and it wouldn’t be a problem except he really, really has to pee. And maybe throw up. The last thing he really remembers about the night before was doing bodyshots with –

With Kent Parson, so there’s half the mystery solved.

Now that he thinks about it, he has vague memories of making out with Kent, pressed against a wall in the lodge where they were staying. And vague memories of Jack walking in on them and stalling out, just staring at Bitty and Kent with wide ice blue eyes. And he’s pretty sure Kent said something like, “Are you just gonna stand there Zimms or are you going to…come…with us?”

And now Bitty’s in bed with both of them.

But oh god he has to pee, so he extracts himself from the middle of the bed and creeps into the bathroom. He’s a little sticky in certain places but he tries not to think about that until he’s gone pee and flips on the light. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and yelps.

His neck is a mess of bruises and bite marks and beard burn, the hickeys continuing down his chest, one or five on the insides of his thighs. He stares at the bruises and realises he’s giggling nervously. He’s just a baker, that’s all. He’s a simple baker from Georgia who lives in Massachusetts, and sure one of his best friends is a renowned artist, and one of his other friends is the sort of lawyer who constantly runs the risk of being disbarred for protesting things, and one is a doctor, and one is a defence man for the Seattle Schooners, but Bitty is just a simple boy. He appreciates good flour and doesn’t believe there’s such a thing as overusing butter. He should not be completely covered in visible signs of a fun night when the other parties involved are very famous hockey players.

While he giggles, he slowly becomes aware that Jack is standing in the bathroom doorway watching him. Being a professional athlete, he hasn’t felt the need to cover up his naked body at all and it takes most of Bitty’s willpower not to follow the faint lines of red that look a lot like fingernail marks down Jack’s bare chest to his cock. Bitty wonders if his continued nudity also has something to do with the fact Jack is Quebecois. Maybe that’s the continental French.

Jack offers him a slightly awkward smile and gestures vaguely at the bathroom.

“ _Puis-je – euh désole_ – can I,” Jack mumbles. After a second of confused staring because _French_ Bitty realises that Jack needs to use the bathroom. Bitty shuffles around him, trying not to accidentally touch him because what the hell is appropriate morning after protocol when you’ve just had a drunken threesome with two strangers?

“We, uh, we messed you up a bit, didn’t we,” Jack says, nodding at Bitty’s chest. He looks unsure if he should be apologetic.

“It’s fine,” Bitty squeaks. He doesn’t add that he is absolutely okay with being covered in bite marks that came from Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson.

Jack closes the door and leaves Bitty alone in the room with Kent, who is still asleep, looking much smaller in the bed now that he’s alone. Bitty searches the floor for his underwear, which he eventually finds tucked behind the bedroom door. After a second, Bitty remembers that they’re there because they got into the room and one of them – he thinks maybe Jack? – had pressed him up against the door and…and anyway, his shirt was lost somewhere downstairs while he was doing bodyshots with Kent, so he steals one of theirs. He tries not to think about the fact he has to roll up the sleeves several times in order to have access to his hands.  

Then he does what he does best under pressure – he starts baking.

The lodge that Holster and Ransom have rented for their wedding is actually a collection of four or five of the most northwesty cabins Bitty could have ever imagined, and the kitchen in the building he’s in is gorgeous. There’s a river stone fireplace that opens on both the wide open living room and the kitchen, there’s a beautiful stove and a perfect oven. Bitty immediately sets about making French toast.

He’s most of the way through it when he realises Nursey is half asleep at the bar.

“Holy shit, Bits, what happened to your – everything?” Nursey asks, gaping at him. “And whose shirt is that?”

Nursey, who had played with him and Ransom and Holster and Shitty at Samwell, now happens to be another one of Bitty’s much more illustrious friends. He’s a fairly popular poet based out of New York along with his boyfriend, Dex, who works for a major engineering firm.

“Either Jack Zimmermann’s or Kent Parson’s,” Bitty says, feeling himself burn bright red. “I honestly have no idea.”

“Both their shirts ended up in your room?” Nursey asks, his eyebrows creeping higher up his face.

“Uh,” Bitty says. “Something like that. Where’s Dex?”

“He drew the short straw and had to drive Holster and Ransom back to Seattle so they could get on a plane,” Nursey says. “But the cabins are rented until the end of the weekend, so when he gets back we were going to head over to this Bavarian village that’s nearby. There’s supposed to be a good Italian restaurant.”

“In a Bavarian village?” Bitty asks, glad his distraction is working.

“Yeah,” Nursey says. He yawns widely and tries to stand. His knees give out as soon as he’s on his feet and Bitty rushes over to help him up.

“You’re that hungover?” Bitty asks. He realises he’d lost track of everyone the night before as soon as…it was before bodyshots. What did he do before bodyshots?

Oh, right. He had spent a good two hours in the same armchair as Jack Zimmermann ostensibly because the others were full, but mostly as an excuse to be in Jack’s lap. He thinks he remembers Jack repeatedly running his hand through Bitty’s hair and seeming genuinely interested while Bitty described the entirety of the Bittle-Phelps Jam Dispute of 2016-??.

“Nah, bro, I’m still that drunk,” Nursey says from the floor while Bitty pulls him to his feet. “I miss Dex.”

“He’ll be back soon,” Bitty says, although he realises as he says it that he doesn’t know what time it is, much less what time Dex will be back. “Why don’t you get a big glass of water and go take a nice long nap until he gets here?”

Nursey agrees and shuffles off to a bed, leaving Bitty alone in the kitchen.

At least he’s alone until someone clears his throat.

Bitty turns to look and discovers Kent leaning against one of the counters watching him. Apparently it was his shirt that Bitty stole, because he isn’t wearing one. Kent is watching him cook with hungry eyes, but Bitty’s not sure if they’re directed at him or the French toast. He settles for blushing anyway.

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Kent says.

“I mean, they’re still not quite cooked yet, so they’re not _that_ hot,” Bitty says, flipping one of the pieces of toast and giving Kent a slightly awkward smile. Kent snorts instead of laughing like a normal person and puts his hands on Bitty’s waist, pulling him in for a kiss.

Bitty really does not mind.

“So I don’t think I asked last night, but what do you do?” Kent asks, sitting on the counter and fiddling with the coffee maker.

“I own a bakery,” Bitty says.

Kent’s eyebrows furrow for a moment. “How do you know Adam and Justin?”

“We played hockey together in college,” Bitty says. He knows from Holster exactly how Kent became involved tangentially in their friend group. During the Western Conference playoffs a few years before, the final game was in Vegas, Aces versus Schooners, and after Holster beat him, the two of them had gone out for drinks and karaoke on the Strip and had been friends ever since. It was during the Stanley Cup against the Falcons that same year that Holster had met Jack.

“You played hockey?” Kent asks, his eyes running over Bitty.

Bitty rolls his eyes, getting ready for the usual reactions of, “Oh but you’re so tiny!” and “I didn’t know they let…your kind…play hockey.” He doesn’t expect the second one from Kent since Kent is very vocally one of the queerest members of the NHL, but old habits die hard.

“You’re fast aren’t you?” Kent guesses.

“Very,” Bitty agrees, taking the toast out of the pan. He offers some to Kent along with the real Quebec maple syrup he finds in the fridge and is handed a cup of coffee in return.

“Was Jack still speaking French when you got up?” Kent asks before taking a bite of the French toast and making a thoroughly indecent noise that does _things_ to Bitty’s insides.

“Very briefly,” he says, drizzling the syrup on his own toast.

“But he did say something in English?” Kent prompts. Bitty nods. “Good. Better than he was back in the Q. Swear to God he wouldn’t say a damn word in English until he’d had two cups of coffee. Morning practices were the worst ‘cause I had to translate everything he was shouting at the rest of the team.”

These seem like unnecessarily friendly details for Kent to be sharing with him. Bitty doesn’t know how to react, because it sounds like Kent and Jack have known each other for a very long time and have been very close that whole time. And Bitty’s in the middle of something.

Jack shows up in the kitchen a few seconds later. Like Bitty, he’s just wearing his boxer briefs and his shirt, but he hasn’t really buttoned it so it almost comes off when Kent pulls him over by the collar and kisses him. And yeah, Bitty’s _definitely_ in the middle of something. But at least it was fun.

“I made French toast,” he says, offering Jack a plate while Kent hands him a cup of coffee.

“Is there jam?” Jack asks. He blinks innocently at Bitty, but Bitty sees the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Are you – are you _chirping_ me?” Bitty demands, pressing his hand to his heart in mock horror.

“ _Ouais_ ,” Jack says with a shrug and a little smile. “Thanks for the toast.”

The three of them eat in near silence aside from Kent’s occasional indecent noises and Jack’s responding disapproving looks which somehow manage to have an aural quality. Eventually, Jack asks when both of them are heading home. Bitty isn’t going anywhere until Monday since he’s never been to Washington aside from Seattle and wants to explore a little. It turns out he and Jack are on the same flight back to Boston, and Kent is flying back to Vegas later that same day.

They spend most of that day in the cabin, waving goodbye to Dex and Nursey when they go off to the Bavarian village, and eventually end up in the hot tub. After night falls, they can see the stars shining brightly in the pitch black sky. Bitty’s pretty sure he’s never seen anything that pretty. Madison is too close to Atlanta to get stars like this, and Samwell’s too close to Boston. Jack and Kent look equally in awe, though, so he doesn’t feel bad about it.

It’s Kent who brings it up around eleven at night.

“So…I don’t know about the two of you but last night was kind of…” he says.

Bitty braces himself. Awkward, Kent’s going to say. Should never, ever happen again, Kent’s going to say.

“The best sex I’ve had in a really long time,” Kent says. Bitty mentally substitutes the qualifier of “ever” for “long time” and nods his agreement. Jack just looks bashful.

Bitty knows he’s getting in the middle of something complicated. Jack and Kent have a very long history as far as he can tell (he makes a mental note to look them up in more detail when he gets home) and he’s pretty sure based on the looks they’ve been shooting each other all day, it only got more complex as of last night. But he still wants. He wants a lot.

“You know,” Jack says in a very serious tone. “Repeatable results are a crucial component of the scientific method.”

“Aw, Zimms, is that your way of saying you want us again?” Kent asks, stretching his leg across the hot tub to lightly prod Jack.

Jack nods and as one, they both look at Bitty.

“What do you say, Eric?” Kent asks.

Bitty feels his eyebrows raise towards his hairline, at least partially because it’s been actual years since anyone called him Eric.

“Y’all aren’t seriously asking me if I want to have sex with the two hottest guys in the NHL again are you?” Bitty replies. For a second they look concerned and Bitty shakes his head at both of them. “Come on now. That’s an easy answer.”

* * *

 

The next morning they wake up a little earlier. Instead of sprawled, they’re spooning, Bitty pressed to Jack’s back, Kent to his. He’s actually sore from the physical exertion of the night before. It’s the best kind of sore, maybe, but still. And besides sore, he feels a little giddy. Jack and Kent might have something going on themselves, but the way they’d treated him in bed was absolutely worth it in every way. Bitty is happy to be their third man for the weekend. He just has to keep himself from getting attached.

There were lots of reasons for that, primarily they were both professional hockey players, one of whom lived in Vegas and the other of whom lived in Providence (only forty minutes away, Bitty thinks unhelpfully to himself) and secondarily, they were in a relationship with each other. Not with Bitty.

After breakfast of apple pancakes, Bitty tells them that he wants to go hiking. There are supposed to be very pretty trails on the property where they’re staying and Jack is in as soon as he mentions it. Kent has to be dragged, and as they pick their way up root-ensnared narrow trails, the ferns touching their calves (and in one memorable case, smacking Bitty in the face), Kent laments the disaster that is Nature from the trees on through the fact that nature sometimes feels the need to be vertical. It turns out Kent is originally from the flattest part of New York and is now living in the desert wasteland that is Las Vegas, so Bitty can understand Kent’s grumbling even if he does find it hilarious, and even if Jack and Bitty spend the entire hike chirping him.

After their hike, Bitty makes dinner and they play pool at the table in their cabin. To Bitty’s great amusement and Jack’s prior knowledge, Kent Parson, who has won the Stanley Cup multiple times, is absolutely terrible at every game that isn’t hockey. Bitty doesn’t remember what they talk about that night, he just remembers laughing a lot.

But the next day is Monday and they’re all heading home. He’s sad it’s over, because he really likes both of them. But it’s fine, he tells himself. It has to be fine.

He’s packing his things when he hears Kent and Jack talking in low voices.

“You know we should have done this years ago,” Kent says.

“Didn’t we?” Jack asks.

“I mean for real,” Kent says. “Not the whole frantic trying to be together when we roomed together on away games thing.”

“Yes, because secret, closeted long distance relationships definitely put the ‘fun’ in functional,” Jack says.

“Well we’re out now,” Kent points out. “We should…”

Bitty tries not to hear their conversation. He tries not to acknowledge the fact he’s let himself hope. He doesn’t even know what he was hoping for, just that somehow, maybe one of them would want him permanently. But it’s better this way, he tries to convince himself. They’re right together, maybe. More right than Bitty is with either of them.

He hears Jack, despite his best efforts, saying, “It might work now that we’ve got…”

Bitty plugs in a headphone before he can hear the end of the sentence.

They each have their own rental cars so they have to part ways before they leave. They end up caravanning across the Cascades though, and arrive at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport at the same time. They go through security together, chatting happily. In Kent and Jack’s cases, the happiness seems genuine. Bitty’s glad for them, really.

“We should see if we can get your ticket changed,” Jack says as they approach the terminal. Bitty tries not to laugh at the fact there are at least three Starbucks in eyesight and there are salmon hanging from the ceiling. Then he hears what Jack has said.

“What? Why?” he asks.

“So we can sit together,” Jack says, nudging him in the foot while Kent rolls his eyes and gets them all coffees.

“Oh,” Bitty says. It still feels surreal. This whole weekend has felt surreal. Maybe in the best possible way, but it doesn’t feel like it’s something that happened to him.

The gate agent is very accommodating and gets Bitty in the (first class) seat next to Jack with very little prompting since Jack has all of the frequent flier miles anyone could ever ask for and is also a fabulously wealthy and attractive hockey player. They say goodbye to Kent, who kisses first Jack, and then to Bitty’s surprise, Bitty, and get on the plane back to the east coast.

He and Jack talk the whole flight, and Bitty tries to ignore the tingling sensation and the butterflies that are coming directly from the fact Jack is holding his hand. Because Bitty is pretty sure Jack likes him, and that would be amazing, except that Jack and Kent had decided to give it a go. And Bitty doesn’t want to be the person who helps Jack cheat on Kent because how fucked up would that be considering the fact Bitty also really likes Kent?

But they land back in Boston and Shitty’s there to pick Bitty up and Jack is collecting his own car so he can drive back down to Providence. They pause as they get off the plane, Jack pulling Bitty over to a more private corner. With most people, Bitty would feel like it was an attempt to hide him, but with Jack it seems like he’s just looking for a quiet spot.

“What are you doing next weekend?” Jack asks.

“I don’t know,” Bitty says. “Why?”

“Well we’ve got a home game and Kenny was talking about coming over for it, so if you can get away from the bakery, you should come too,” Jack says. “I can leave tickets for you?”

Bitty hears himself agreeing, feels himself stretching on his toes to kiss Jack goodbye, and then he’s running out of the airport. He doesn’t tell Shitty anything as they drive back to Samwell, because he doesn’t want to have that conversation with him just yet.

It’s only been an hour since he’s got home that he gets a group text from Kent saying he’s arrived safely in Vegas – or as safe as anyone can ever be in Vegas – that also states Bitty and Jack are required to present themselves in Vegas for Kent’s game in a few weeks. Bitty tries not to be too confused, because it’s late at night and he’s tired, and he just wants to go to sleep. He can deal with whatever’s going on with Jack and Kent tomorrow.

He doesn’t get a chance to deal with it tomorrow since he’s back at the bakery and Tony has only just kept the place from burning down. He’s distracted the entire week until suddenly, late on Friday night, there’s a knock on his door. Bitty sets down the glass of wine he’s been drinking in order to relax and opens the door to discover Kent Parson.

“Hey,” Kent says, inviting himself inside and pressing a kiss to Bitty’s cheek. Kent has a bag with him. Kent kicks off his shoes and sits down at Bitty’s kitchen table like he has no intention of going anywhere anytime soon. Kent calmly inspects the bottle of wine Bitty’s got on the table and takes a sip from Bitty’s glass. Then he gets up and starts browsing Bitty’s cabinets for another glass.

“You’re – you’re in my apartment,” Bitty says, opening a cabinet that Kent hadn’t gone for and handing him a glass.

“Yeah, I figured we could carpool down to Providence tomorrow,” Kent says. He pauses in the act of pouring himself a glass of wine. “I forgot to say I was coming didn’t I.”

Bitty nods.

“Oops,” Kent says. He pulls Bitty into the chair next to him and kisses him on the cheek again, then the lips, and Bitty’s pretty sure he should be putting a stop to this because Kent is dating Jack and Bitty hates himself a little for pulling Kent’s clothes off.

Jack is delighted to see them the next day, pulling them into a group hug that might have been considered platonic by onlookers, but Bitty can see Kent’s hand on Jack’s ass and feel it on his own. They all end up in Jack’s apartment after the game and when they wake up in the morning, Bitty is tempted to sneak out and let them have some time together. But then he remembers Kent drove him there and he has no way of getting home unless he wants to take the train. He considers his options and finds himself in Jack’s beautiful kitchen.

At least, it looks beautiful. Then he opens the cupboards and discovers there’s nothing in it. Bitty’s way is clear, and he stalks off to the nearest grocery store.

By the time Kent and Jack wake up, there are two pies cooling on Jack’s counter tops.

“I had all this in my kitchen?” Jack asks, clearly in awe.

“No, I went to the store,” Bitty says.

Jack looks chagrined while Kent laughs. He also pulls out his phone and starts typing something.

“What should I have in my kitchen then? Kent asks, looking at Bitty expectantly.

“For what?” Bitty asks.

“So you can make more pies when you’re in Vegas next weekend,” Kent says.

Bitty tries not to squeak, since he’s forgotten that he agreed to that, and gives him a list. He tries not to feel guilty about it all, since if they _both_ want him then surely it’s fine. Right? Morally?

By the time Kent drives Bitty back up to Samwell, they’ve fallen into a conversation about _Revenge_ and the _Real Housewives_ and Kent ends up staying an extra day so they can binge watch it and complain the entire time. They skype Jack halfway through and he laughs himself stupid.

After Vegas, Jack comes up to Samwell to visit Bitty and they talk about photography and about the things Jack likes aside from hockey and Bitty helps him set up an Instagram  so he can share his photography with the world. Kent immediately calls to demand an explanation for the fact Jack hasn’t posted any pictures of Kit Purrson on his Instagram and Jack responds that she is the devil in fluffy white fur while Bitty laughs hysterically. Kit likes him, after all. She spent the entire weekend curled up on Bitty’s chest but every time Jack came near her, she’d turn and lift her tail, neatly showing him her butt as cats will do.

They’ve reached an odd symbiosis by the time it’s been a month. In a way, Bitty hates it because he’s pretty sure he’s falling in love with both of them, and that sucks because they’re together and Bitty is the guy they call when they want it to be even more fun, and…

And after a month, in press conferences, both Kent and Jack start casually mentioning their boyfriend. Never by name, but it still hurts Bitty a little every time a reporter asks Jack if his boyfriend is okay with his hockey hours and Jack says, “Well, sure, he’s got a pretty gruelling schedule himself.” It kills him when Kent says his boyfriend has a phenomenal ass, when Jack says his boyfriend has a devil cat, when Kent says that yeah, his boyfriend’s played hockey once or twice.

When the next home game for the Falconers is on, Bitty doesn’t go. He tells them that he’s catering a wedding in Waltham and he’s so sorry but he can’t make it down to Providence and he’ll talk to them both later. He is catering a wedding, that’s true. But just the desserts, and he can drop those off with the savoury food the other caterers are providing and then he can go home, wrap up in a blanket on his couch, and cry while he watches Jack play.

It’s during the postgame interview that some reporter has cornered Jack.

“So cheat days,” she says. “What’s your favourite dessert?”

“Maple apple pie,” Jack says without missing a beat. “My boyfriend is an amazing baker.”

And Bitty freezes.

Because Kent can’t cook for shit, he knows this. He learned this the hard way when they were in Vegas because Kent tried to help him in the kitchen and Bitty had to get Jack to forcibly carry him out of the room before he lit anything else on fire.

Bitty can bake.

Bitty is a baker.

Bitty pulls out his phone, fully intending to call Jack and demand “what the hell” but he knows Jack is still in interviews because he’s watching him give those interviews. Instead he calls Kent.

“Why would Jack say you’re a good baker?” Bitty demands. “I watched you burn water.”

“Yeah, he was talking about you?” Kent replies, sounding confused. “Also would you open your door? My hands are too full to knock.”

Without unwrapping from his blanket, Bitty crosses to the door of his apartment and opens it to find Kent. He’s got a duffle over his shoulder, his phone pressed to his ear, and a bag of takeout from a restaurant in Providence that they all like in the other hand.

Bitty lets him in and Kent sets the food on the table before going to kiss Bitty hello. He pauses when he gets a good look at him.

“Dude, are you okay?” Kent asks.

Bitty knows his eyes are red, and that there’s an empty bottle of wine on his coffee table and the answer is probably no, but he’s too confused now to feel actually bad.

“Why would Jack say his boyfriend could cook?” Bitty asks. “Since you can’t.”

“Because he was talking about you, like I said,” Kent replies slowly.

“Yeah but why would Jack be referring to me as his boyfriend?” Bitty asks, sitting back down on his couch in his blanket burrito.

Kent squints at him like he’s as confused as Bitty, and then grabs his phone off the table. Whoever answers, Bitty presumes Jack, doesn’t say much. Kent just asks if he’s driving and when he gets an affirmative answer, he hangs up.

While they wait, Kent has a few beers to the end that when Jack joins them, they’re both a little blurry around the edges from the alcohol.

“Eric were you crying?” Jack asks immediately, dropping his bag by the door and joining them on the couch.

“Apparently we’ve been miscommunicating,” Kent says.

Bitty sniffs and leans into Jack’s side. He smells so damn good all the time and they’re both so warm against him and he wants both of them so much at any given moment that he doesn’t know how to handle it.

“You weren’t miscommunicating!” Bitty insists. “I heard your conversation back in Washington State. You guys were going to give it a try for real or something and I’m just in the way and--”

“Eric,” Jack says. “You didn’t hear the whole conversation. And that’s kind of our fault, since it’s a conversation we should’ve all been having together.”

“Why?” Bitty asks.

“Me and Zimms? We’d never work out if it was just us,” Kent says. “We’ve tried that and it went really badly.”

“But we both really, really like you,” Jack says, kissing Bitty’s temple. “And we want to be with you. And each other.”

“Because Jack’s got a thing for twinky blonds,” Kent interjects. Bitty snorts and Jack gives him an affectionate scowl. “So because we’ve both been stupidly assuming we were all on the same page, will you date us? I mean you kind of already have been, but, like, officially.”

Bitty bites his lip and looks at both their expressions. They’re hopeful, he realises. They really actually want this. They want _him_. And good God he wants them both so much.

“Y’all aren’t seriously asking me if I want to be in a relationship with the two hottest players in the NHL are you?” he asks. Jack beams and Kent laughs. Yeah, Bitty thinks. This is going to be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me on [tumblr.](http://omgericzimmermann.tumblr.com)


End file.
